


Uncovering the Truth

by johnsandsherlocks



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, AU, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dancing and Singing, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, John "Three Continents" Watson, M/M, Male Friendship, Mild Language, My First Fanfic, Oblivious John, Oblivious Sherlock, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining John, Pining Sherlock, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Season/Series 03, Pre-Season/Series 04, Rosie was cute but no Rosie either, Scars, Sherlock's Violin, Slow Burn, Virgin Sherlock, bullet wounds/scars, no mary au, we are all going to ignore season four for this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8597695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsandsherlocks/pseuds/johnsandsherlocks
Summary: John moves back into 221B with Sherlock. Feelings run high as the two learn to live and fit back with each other. With Mary out of the question will the two men be able to tell each other how they really feel and what will happen if they do?





	1. Chapter One- Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! this is my first ever fic and my first ever time posting. I would really like constructive criticism on the two chapters I've written. Please comment what you think and don't hold back! The chapters will switch between John and Sherlock mostly with maybe a little Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade or Mycroft thrown in as well. Each chapter will say who narrates it. No Mary in the fic but mentions to her I kind of wrote her as dead, the baby is not included but I thought of it not as Johns while I wrote this. There's mention to a case within this first posting but I'm not yet sure how often I'll mention cases they go on. I don't have an editor or proof-reader other than myself so I'm sorry for any mess ups you guys find. im not from Britain so some of colloquialisms will be different due to them being what's normal for me to say or write. Okay I think that's it for notes please give feedback if you can!

**Chapter One – Sherlock**

“Huh?” Sherlock looked up at John from his chair in the living room with confusion on his face. He had been deep in thought over a case they were working on and couldn’t be bothered to stay in tune with the world as it moved on around him.

John, used to this behaviour, simply stated again that it was past eight and he knew that Sherlock hadn’t eaten all day, and that he was going down to the Indian restaurant a couple blocks down for some curry and wanted to know what Sherlock wanted as well.

Sherlock, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to get out of this without giving an order said that he was fine with whatever as long as it didn’t take long to consume. John left after this brief interaction. Sherlock estimated he’d be gone for the better part or an hour and readied himself for this time without John. Although Sherlock would never admit it out loud he truly despised when John was gone for any length of time, there was this strange gap in him whenever it happened and it was one of the most uncomfortable feelings he had ever experienced. In the past seven years since meeting John, Sherlock had spent over two and a half years without John by his side, factoring in for the time John was out on dates or when he and Sherlock spilt up for a little. Each experience of being parted from John hurt Sherlock in a way he couldn’t really describe. The two years he had been “dead” were absolute torture, each day waking up expecting John to try and force him to eat breakfast or just the image of John making his tea each morning while Sherlock sneakily watched. He couldn’t quite put words to feelings but it resembled adoration he supposed, using his knowledge of human interactions to categorize his emotions was the only way Sherlock was able to figure out his inner monologue of feeling.

The hour went by as Sherlock had expected, slowly, the case was at a dead stop while test were being run on the composition of the dirt particles found under the victims fingernails and the mulling over he had been doing before John left had led nowhere. He sat in his chair for a good thirty minutes during this time alone thinking about John and what made him happy. He knew that slight domesticity made him smile and that Sherlock making an effort was always nice, so Sherlock decided to set the table for their dinner, of course this would require the cleaning up of his current experiment but it was yielding poor results so he wasn’t too unhappy about trashing it. He made quick work of cleaning the apparatus on the wood table, turning off the Bunsen burner and removing the NaOH from the burette that was set up for the titration he had planned on doing. Putting all of this away and thoroughly cleaning the table and all surrounding surfaces for lingering contaminants Sherlock laid out placemats and cutlery, glass and condiments setting them all in proper format as he had been taught for so long to do when expecting a dinner guest. Stepping back to survey his work Sherlock knew the table was missing something it looked to empty, so he decided upon candles- two equidistant from each other in the relative centre of the table. he was very pleased with himself as he looked at his work and decided to light the candles closer to when John got home so to minimize the possible wax drips that would undoubtedly end up on the table. Sherlock looked down at his wrist to survey the time, 9:02 John was expected home in 15 minutes give or take 3 minutes depending on the size of the purchase form the restaurant he was carrying.

The next eighteen minutes passed fast enough that Sherlock didn’t mind that John took those extra minutes to get back, turns out he had tried to get a cab which if done successfully would have decreased his trip home by eleven minutes but John is horrible at hailing a cab so it ended up taking him longer than walking would have to get back to the flat. When Sherlock heard the cab stop at the front of the flat he lit both candles and waited on edge for John to make his way up to 221B. The thing that worried Sherlock most was the past he had with John when they went out for dinner together. John's insistence that they weren’t a coupe was always a small pin prick to his heart. Each time they went out there was a voice in the back of Sherlock’s head, sounding quite a bit like Mycroft, that fed him doubts about John's feelings towards him and each time those words left John's lips the voice got a but louder filling his head with unwanted words about how foolish he was to think that John could think of him as anything but a friend. This had changed in recent history, John had moved back into the flat with Sherlock and with Mary out of the picture it seemed that John was more open to a higher level of intimacy in their relationship. He would sit in the centre seat if the cabs they shared instead of the opposite end on the bench and the fleeting glances and touches they had shared for so long had become more frequent and would last longer now than they had before. John would sit beside Sherlock on the couch during a case or a quite Sunday and on more than one occasion would fall asleep and end up with his head resting on Sherlock’s shoulder, the moments when this happened were always ones when Sherlock would stop whatever he was doing to categorize what was happening, the way John's lips parted slightly and the soft breaths that escaped them the gentle tickle of his hair on Sherlock’s arm when he was in a t-shirt John's eyes and how they would flicker about under his eyelids the smell of him and the soft touch of his jumpers. Sherlock had a whole folder dedicated to John in his mind palace, no folder is right it’s not big enough, he had so much of John in there a wing of his mind palace was better more fitting to the amount of knowledge had about John up there.

When Sherlock heard the key turn in the door below he jumped a little suddenly doubting all that he had done because, what if John got the right idea or thought Sherlock a fool for interpreting his friendliness for anything other than that, what if he left again, Oh! Sherlock though, what have I done I’ve ruined it all! Sherlock was pacing a little, feeling as though his heart had moved strangely south and that his stomach had been shoved away as a result, as John climbed the last few steps to the flat, but stilled the instant John entered the room. He stood in the doorway obviously a little confused as to why Sherlock had immediately stopped when he had opened the door, but Sherlock only walked forward to grab one of the bags of food before John could say anything. Walking quickly into the kitchen Sherlock panicked about the reaction John would have at the sight of the table and while facing away from the entrance John was going to come though he began to unpack the takeaway.

“Are you alright there Sherlock” John started from the living room still taking off his coat and shoes before he made his way into the kitchen. “You seemed a little shocked by my return. Did I interrupt some tangent thought you were having that was sure to break the case wide open?” John asked still not having made his way to the kitchen. Sherlock couldn’t figure why he hadn’t yet, it took John at the most one minute and 47 seconds to remove his outer layers and the man hadn’t started upstairs to change as his voice was still coming from the living room.

“Oh no nothing like that, the dirt samples haven’t been analyzed yet so the case is at a stand still for the time being” Sherlock stated hopefully not showing his nervousness in his voice. Desperately wishing he hadn’t gone so far to make the table look like it was set for a date and not a dinner between two platonic friends which it should have been to not but John off.

The floor board creaked, ninth from the left door frame support, meaning John was able to see into the kitchen now. Sherlock’s breath wouldn’t come, still turned into the counter; he was unable to gage how John felt about the table because he couldn’t see his face. A red came to his face at the preposterous notion that he had thought it was a good idea to set the table. God he could be so stupid sometimes, he thought as worry plagued this thoughts.

“Holy hell Sherlock-”

If possible Sherlock’s heart fell further into his stomach which in turn seemed to be dropped from his body and replaced with his heart. Of course John thinks it’s too much that I’m a strange, annoying, clingy sociopath who thinks there is something between us, desperately wants there to be something between us.

“I didn’t think it was possible for you to ever clean up from one of your experiments until something became a biohazard, let alone set such a beautiful table!” John exclaimed.

Sherlock’s heart soared directly back into its rightful place and his stomach returned to his body the second those words had escaped John s lips.

“ The experiment was a bust so there was no point in keeping it going if it was never going to result how I wanted it to.” Sherlock said calmly-turning his head around to see John - as though his entire body had been on edge for the better part of 10 minutes. “And growing up like I did, you didn’t expect me to have taken basic etiquette classes?” Sherlock inquired

“It’s not that –“John said quickly hoping not to offend Sherlock, “just I never though you put it to use I mean you haven’t ever in the past…” John tapered off a little at the end, unsure of where he was going after that sentence.

Sherlock turned around fully after that, looking at John inquisitively, “is it too much-” he started before John interjected quickly, “no no it’s great, it’s nice we don’t get to use the table very often for what its intended for. This will be a nice little change.”

Sherlock smiled more than he ought to at this statement; obviously John doesn’t mind the effort. John doesn’t seem to mind the candles either, this is better than Sherlock had hoped it would be, not only was John not running for the hills but he enjoyed the change. Sherlock had to remind himself that enjoying the effort of setting a tale did not mean that John felt anything towards him. That didn’t stop him from being happy though.

John looked at him for a moment longer eyes lingering a little on the lower half of Sherlock’s face, because of this Sherlock had half the mind to go check if he had something on this cheek from cleaning up the mess. Instead Sherlock went towards to grab the other bag from John s hands, grazing his skin a small bit in the process and the touch sent jolts through his body head to toe and he hoped to a god he doesn’t believe in that it didn’t show on his face. The level of touching may have increased since John moved back in but that didn’t stop it from being amazing each time it happened. Sherlock realized he was standing a little too close for a little too long to be grabbing a bag of food, snapping back to reality he looked at John quickly before turning away with the food, the redness returning to his cheeks. He couldn’t be certain in his embarrassment but he though John had been looking at his lower face again, he really wanted to see what was on his face so that he didn’t look unkempt for this dinner. But he knew that going to the washroom to check would seem a bit strange so he did nothing, he wouldn’t admit it but he liked the feeling it brought to his stomach and chest when John was staring at him even if it was for a mess on his cheek.

“If you want we can turn on some music and I’ll pour the drinks?” John asked. Having moved into the kitchen as the conversation progressed he was now between the sink and the door.

“Yes, sure that sounds good” Sherlock said back trying not to over think the request of music when factoring all other aspects of the night. No, he thought quickly, music is just music tonight it had no meaning or ulterior motive.

John came back after a couple minutes and some very odd upbeat pop rhythm was playing from the stereo, “ I know, I know,” John said making his way around the kitchen, it amazed Sherlock that after being back for only two weeks and after two years out of the flat and another month and a half that John still had the entire layout memorized, for him that was normal of course he felt so comfortable but he had though John would have swapped that information for that of the flat he had in those two years and then again switched for the felt he had with Mary but he moved as though he never left so sure in his ways. “ it’s a terrible song but I put it on shuffle so I have no control over what comes up next and I have no clue what songs are in the queue.” John finished. Sherlock couldn’t help but smile again at his train of thought and that John knew to try and justify the awful music.

“Its fine really, better than some of the music you’ve put on in the past.” Sherlock smirked back at him looking down at John with what he hoped was well concealed affection; he didn’t want his unrequited feelings to ruin the night. John only laughed back at him from the spot at the sink filling up the glasses with cold water for their dinner, then thought better and grabbed two more glasses to fill with milk so they wouldn’t scorch their tongues on the spicy food. Walking to the fridge John started to hum along to the music, the song hadn’t switched yet so it was quite the strange scene, John didn’t usually hum or sing to the pop hits or what passes as a hit today, he was more for the music of this childhood and adolescence and at times he would get really into the music, forgetting that Sherlock was there and outright belting with some of the songs. Sherlock loved when he did that, he was given a glimpse into a John before the war and the bullet and the lying wife and all the stress the last decade or so had been full of a look at a happier John.

“ you forgot again, you git” John said with no hint of harshness to his words, and grinning like an idiot, Sherlock realized that he hadn’t picked up the milk from the store like he was supposed to.

“Oh ya sorry ‘bout that must have slipped my mind” he said back a little sheepishly. He felt better when John only laughed at him a little, knowing that John wasn’t mad at him made things better. He didn’t enjoy it when he made John mad.

“Its fine we’ll just have to accept that our mouths shall be burning by the end of the meal”

They sat across each other at the table Sherlock closer to the sink and John the entrance in the hall, the options spread out in front of them, music playing in the background and the candles flickering pleasantly between them. They talked of everything and nothing as they did sometimes, the room was so welcoming to conversation that Sherlock had to ensure that inner feelings didn’t make their way out of his mouth. John talked of the practice and the patients that came through the doors every day, talked of breaks and sprains and one girl who vomited all over the floor just narrowly missing his shoes, he talked of the last month of maladies and Sherlock found himself content with saying nothing and just letting John talk as much as he wanted to. Letting him eat and drink and jokingly complain about the lack of milk and Sherlock kept having to restrain himself from reaching out and taking Johns hand through the meal. He wanted a slight bit of contact, he thought that would make the night perfect just a slight graze between stories and shared eye contact to make the night. Of course Sherlock was to weary of rejection to make that move so he stayed put listening to John and just enjoying how the night had turned out better than he could have thought.

Sherlock was about to interject with a story similar to the one John was talking about when he felt Johns foot touch his under the table. For a moment neither moved each judging the others reaction when Johns toe moved the slightest bit and a small smile creep to his face similar to the one he had earlier in the night after seeing that Sherlock had set up the kitchen so. Sherlock had an overwhelming want to stand and walk around the table to Johns side and kiss him, kiss him for coming back and being his again, kiss him for getting dinner and not freaking out at the display of domesticity that waited his return, to kiss him for his awful musical taste and for all the years he had been here for Sherlock, to thread his fingers into Johns short blonde hair speckled with grey after such a trying two years to stand him up and wrap his arms around Johns waist and back and neck and to breathe him in and memorize the feel of Johns lips and the taste of him after Indian food. That smile could ruin Sherlock if John wanted it to, the tiniest hint of teeth below his lips, which turned up on one side more than the other. It was encapsulating. Sherlock let out a breathe he didn’t know he’d taken let alone held for a good minute, coming back down to the present he felt Johns toe still playing under the table and decided to throw a small amount of caution out the window and play back with his own toe. He wasn’t nearly as controlled as John and the movements were slightly uncoordinated but the fact that he was doing it made him a little light headed, this was the thing to set the night into the realm of prefect, contact, just the fact that he was touching John under the table while that smile played on his face was incredible he never thought he’d get to do this. He didn’t even care that the awful song had come back on shuffle.


	2. Chapter Two- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night continues on after the dinner they shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is the other chapter I was able to write its a little shorter than the one before and has a little hat tip to a movie I watched in English class. I wasn't sure really how to end this chapter so i feel like it ends a bit suddenly but please tell me what you guys think. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter Two –John**

John hadn’t thought the night could have turned out any better. Between the nervous Sherlock- which was always a treat because he almost never got to see that-, to the table being clean and set with those damn candles, to the music that made Sherlock smile as he hummed along to it, the food being delicious and the fact that Sherlock just kept listening all night to his stories and finally the touch under the table. John had thought for a second that in that moment he would have been found out, all the unintentional stares at Sherlock’s mouth all night to the breath he took in when their hands touched for the fleeting second they did so, the goofy smile that kept playing at Johns mouth the kind he couldn’t seem to get rid of when Sherlock acted out of character and did something sweet. He was so sure that Sherlock was going to deduce the hell out of him, discover how John really felt and then call him out on it. His heart clenched again at the thought, he couldn’t handle losing Sherlock again not when it would have been his own fault this time, but damn when his foot connected with Sherlock’s at dinner he was momentarily petrified at the thought of being asked about it or worse being asked to leave for thinking that there was even possibly something there. He had looked at Sherlock instantaneously when it happened to gage his reaction, then his toe switched- still touching Sherlock’s foot- and his heart sunk thinking that was it, he tried to play it off with a sly smile acting like it was an accident but when Sherlock didn’t move his foot or comment on it John got a little more confident and tried the stroke of his toe again. In that moment John saw something in Sherlock’s eyes that said he was not only thinking but also playing out a scene in his head he decided that a distracted Sherlock was probably not a bad thing, thinking that he was imagining a part if the case as he often did in the middle of an activity or conversation John continued with the movement. Moments later as John was looking down at his plate that smile- that he was sure could see right through- still on his face, he heard Sherlock exhale in a long breath and add his own toe to the mix. John was dumbfounded, he had never expected Sherlock to join in, but here he was the movements were a little jerky and unsure but the touch and the fact that Sherlock was at least open to the idea of playing footie’s was a damn miracle to John. He had spent so much time thinking about trying something like this, he had had so many opportunities, their feet were always so close when they sat in their chairs and on the couch it would have been easy enough to try it in the back of a taxi as they had begun sitting close together but each time he worried only about the consequences if he did attempt the contact.

After dinner, which Sherlock ate a surprisingly large amount of, John went up to get changed as the flat plus the spicy food was making him too hot to stay in his cuddly sweater any longer. While upstairs John mulled over the events of the night further trying desperately not to read into what had transpired.

After changing from is sweater and dark jeans into a t-shirt from his army days and a pair of lighter weight jeans he went back down to the main level of the flat to find Sherlock standing at the sink washing dishes, John stopped walking and stared for a moment, it was one thing that Sherlock was cleaning up twice in one night, it was another thing all together to see that he had removed his suit jacket and rolled the sleeves of his crisp white shirt up past the elbows, suds clung all down his arms and despite being rolled so high his cuffs were wet. For reasons John won’t ever understand Sherlock looked so damn good like that. Slender hips pressed lightly to the counter, feet slightly apart, mop of curls bouncing slightly as he scrubbed at the dishes, the toned muscle of his back visible through his dress shirt, arms strong yet thin flexing against the tight shirt. John wanted nothing more than to walk up behind that man and wrap his arms around a waist thin enough he was sure he would end up hugging his own arms as well and breathing in the smell of him- something he imagines to be like chemicals aftershave and shampoo- and then to turn Sherlock around and look into those blue eyes, the eyes that hold so much pain and so many secrets yet are closed off to everyone, everyone but John- he’s had the privilege to see Sherlock for who he really is on one chance occasion- and kiss him reaching up on his tip toes so not to strain either’s neck, to push him lightly into the counter for balance and to bury his fingers deep in the curls that are so very Sherlock, to run his hands down his back tracing the vertebrate there, to roam around his chest with his fingers and feel what he can through the shirt to have Sherlock press his sopping hands all over his hair and face and have him leave wet hand prints all over the t-shirt. He wanted to whisper to Sherlock mouths but millimetres from each other all the things he should have said before the fall and then all that’s come after the fifth of November in that train car and have Sherlock whisper the same back to him so that he knows he’s not alone in this minefield that is the love he feels for his flatmate.

Instead he leans against the door frame and watches, knowing that Sherlock is already aware of his presence. After another minute or so Johns leans off the wall and makes his way over to the sink grabbing a dish towel as he does, and come to stand at Sherlock’s side, testing something, Johns leans in a small amount to grab a dish and then moves back to a comfortable and platonic distance to dry it, he not sure he can trust it but he thinks he saw Sherlock leans in as John leaned out, as though wanting to press his side up against John as they do the dishes. This fills John with a strange sense of contentment, the more Sherlock wants to touch him the more he’d be open to the touching right? But what kind of touching sides pressed together at the sink is far from making out with each other. John thinks this over while drying and gets so into his own head that he doesn’t realize that he’s reached into the sick to find another dish and there isn’t one to dry. Sherlock looks at him quizzically “John are you there? You seem far away.”

“uh-uh ya I was just… deep in thought that’s all” John curses himself for the stumble, Sherlock picks up on everything there was little chance he was going to get away with that one.

“About what were you thinking?” Sherlock asks turning to face him right hip resting on the counter

“Nothing really, nothing important at least.” John replies hoping to sound noncommittal but probably falling far short of that.

“Oh okay” Sherlock responds obviously ignoring the tone John had taken to sound fine. John didn’t want to dwell on this topic so he decided to retire to the sitting room and lounge of the couch maybe watch some telly or read, he’d like to read.

Sherlock not really knowing what to do followed John into the room and sat on the couch as well, slightly farther than normal John noted unhappily.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” John asked timidly, after the night they’d had John wanted to have Sherlock come closer to him rest his shoulder blade against Johns chest and shoulder snuggle in a bit and watch the movie. John wanted to smell Sherlock’s hair to put his hand so close to Sherlock’s that a single muscle twitch would connect their skin.

Sherlock looked at him shaking his head “ya that sounds great” he responded, and John felt himself relax a little.

He decided to let Sherlock pick the film as he had picked dinner and they settled in to watch _Memento_ together on the couch. It took a little time for Sherlock to relax a bit on the couch. They were about 20% of the way though the movie when Sherlock connected their shoulders by leaning back into John. Both the men had to remind themselves that they had done this before and that it wasn’t new but for some reason that feeling of uncertainty was back, both concerned that the other would flip at the smallest thing and interrogate the other. After a little more time had passed and they were getting into the really good parts of the movie John lifted his hand to scratch at his nose and when putting in back down let it fall much closer to Sherlock’s than it had been before, in fact so close that if he wanted to a small shift in the placement of his bum on the couch would slide their hands next to each other and result in them touching. John decided that that was a risk he was willing to take and shifted the smallest amount barely two centimeters and felt skin under his fingers and palm. The jolt he felt in his very bones was enough to make anyone weak, pure electricity was flowing from their skin sending it from John to Sherlock and back around again. John felt Sherlock tense beside him and worried that he’d messed up big time. Neither spoke, neither moved, each needed the other to relax into the touch first but they didn’t know how the other would react if they did so. John, after a couple seconds which felt more like hours, shifted his fingers away from Sherlock’s hand and the two settled back into the movie wanting to go back to the touch but fearing the repercussions if they did.


End file.
